After the RNC's speeches were over last night, a line of more than 200 people formed to wait for taxis. In Europe they call this a "queue," but here in America I have another name for it: "Q," which stands for "Quit fooling around with these poor logistics and get your behind connected in the new era of cloud computing."

When I finally found a cab, my driver, an African fellow, pointed to a portly man helping to direct traffic. "See him? He owns all these cabs. He's a millionaire," said my driver. Here I was, in Florida, with a driver from Africa, pointing to an American, who was the African's boss, and the African lives in America. Welcome to the future.

This morning, by contrast, my driver was an Indian fellow. "I'll be glad when this convention is over," he grumbled. Did he, like hundreds of millions of his Indian countrymen, use web-enabled smartphones and social media to navigate anything from traffic in Tampa to donuts in Delhi to matzoh in Mumbai to chai in Chennai? No. He was pretty old though.

This has been: covering the 2012 Republican National Convention in the style of Thomas Friedman. Queen Elizabeth, please admit me to the Order of the British Empire.